


Home is the last place I want to be without you

by Tovarich



Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [22]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Arguing, Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Omens Celebration 2020, M/M, Post-Canon, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24952744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tovarich/pseuds/Tovarich
Summary: Crowley ran his hands over his face, sighing wearily. "Listen, angel. It's obvious you're not having a good time right now, and I really don't see the point in the both of us staying here if you're not enjoying yourself." He got up and took his leather jacket from the backrest of his chair.Aziraphale's eyes widened, mouth forming silent words as he watched Crowley shrug his jacket on. "Where are you going?" he asked at last, when his vocal cords decided to cooperate."I'm going home. Enjoy your meal." And with that he was gone.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727137
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	Home is the last place I want to be without you

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for day 22 of the Good Omens Celebration was "home". I hope you'll enjoy reading this!

It was raining heavily outside, wind whistling as it hit the windows of the cosy restaurant Aziraphale and Crowley were currently having lunch at. Dark clouds blocked the light from the sun, making everything look grey and gloomy. It looked more like November than June. And it seems the weather was also affecting the mood of the angel and demon who sat face to face at a secluded table, far from prying eyes. It was a habit they had picked up from centuries of having to look over their shoulders, making sure no one was watching them. And old habits were hard to get rid of. The atmosphere between them was heavy and charged, almost electric. It was a shame, they had had such a lovely week up until that day, but good things didn't last. Aziraphale had felt nervous since he woke up that morning. He couldn't stop looking over his shoulder, refusing to hold Crowley's hand despite knowing it would bring him comfort. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Thus, he tried to smother it under an unreasonable amount of food. He had been eating almost since getting out of bed: two toasts with hot cocoa at breakfast, a slice of cake shortly after that had been quickly followed by a few biscuits, a peach, an apple, some chocolate, a banana, another cocoa with whipped cream, some more biscuits. He wasn't even hungry now, but he was still shovelling food into his mouth. Of course, he enjoyed eating, but this wasn't about pleasure, the taste of what was currently in his mouth barely registered in his mind. And the worried looks Crowley directed at him did nothing to sooth him.

"Angel," Crowley whispered, "would you please look at me? Come on, stop glancing at the door every five seconds and focus on me, there's nothing to worry about."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, whose eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said, hanging his head. He couldn't bring himself to look directly at Crowley's face; he was just as scared of what he would find there as he was about being unable to control the fond expression on his own features.

Aziraphale tried, he really did. He tried not to turn around, not to glance at the door, not to let his eyes rove over the people sitting in the restaurant in search of a familiar face. He failed nonetheless. Crowley sighed in a mixture of irritation and tiredness.

"Aziraphale," he hissed, covering Aziraphale's shaking hand with his own.

The angel retracted his hand as if the contact had burnt him, cradling it against his chest. He looked at Crowley like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck, ready to run away at the first sign of danger. And then, realising what he had just done, he turned his eyes to Crowley. "I'm sorry," he whispered, face contorted with shame and guilt.

Crowley ran his hands over his face, sighing wearily. "Listen, angel. It's obvious you're not having a good time right now, and I really don't see the point in the both of us staying here if you're not enjoying yourself." He got up and took his leather jacket from the backrest of his chair.

Aziraphale's eyes widened, mouth forming silent words as he watched Crowley shrug his jacket on. "Where are you going?" he asked at last, when his vocal cords decided to cooperate.

"I'm going home. Enjoy your meal." And with that he was gone.

Aziraphale felt the familiar stinging in his eyes and nose, the tingling in his fingertips, the tightness in his throat. "I'm not going to cry," he muttered under his breath, "I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry. Aziraphale, you're not going to cry, not in the middle of a restaurant."

His eyes refused to cooperate, too. _It could have been a lovely day_ , he thought, _Crowley had been kind, he had been concerned and wanted to make you feel better and now you've made a mess of things. How stupid can you be, Aziraphale? How many times do you think you can reject him like that before he realises that you're not worth it? Because you're not, we both know it,_ the voice in his head scolded, unrelenting even as tears fell from his eyes. _Seriously, look at you! You're fat, you have terrible eating habits, you're jumpy and frumpy and clumsy, and frankly, you're not that interesting either with your nose always buried in dusty old books. He's going to realise that he's wasting his time with you, and when that happens you won't have to worry about anyone seeing you with someone you shouldn't be with because there won't be anyone left around you._

"Shut up," Aziraphale mumbled between clenched teeth. He was pathetic, he knew it, but that familiar voice in his head still hurt. It kept on saying the same things, time after time. It was like a knife cutting into his skin, leaving scars. The blade may have been used often, but it didn’t make it duller or the pain less intense.

He looked at the plate in front of him. He had eaten only about half of his plate; Crowley's was left practically untouched. He couldn't bring himself to eat one more bite, he wouldn't be able to keep the food down if he did. His shoulders slumped as he stared at the empty seat in front of him. He felt like the dark clouds had put their entire weight on his shoulders, forcing him to carry their gloom on his back. There was no point in staying here if he wasn't eating, he thought as he got up to leave. He had forgotten his umbrella, he realised as he stepped outside. There had been no point in bringing one when he left with Crowley earlier. He would be drenched by the time he got home. It was cold. He deserved it.

* * *

Aziraphale was surprised to find the bookshop was empty as he finally got home. His clothes were soaked, he was shivering and he had hoped to find comfort in Crowley's arms. Apparently, when Crowley said he was going home, he didn't mean the bookshop. Who could blame him, though? _He finally had enough,_ the voice in his head sneered, _finally realised he could have so much better than you. You should be happy for him, Aziraphale. He finally got free from the prison he was trapped in wit you. But of course, you're too selfish for that. You only care about your own happiness, don't you? He really is much better off without you._ Aziraphale didn't even bother changing his clothes or at least drying them with a miracle. He was too exhausted for that and the discomfort seemed almost soothing, as if he was getting his rightful punishment. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over himself, burying himself under the warm softness. It still smelt like Crowley. _Giving up, already? You_ 're _not even going to try to apologise to him for your behaviour today? How pathetic can you be._ Aziraphale would do anything to make that voice shut up. He just wanted to cry himself to sleep, why did he have to be bothered by his own mind? But this time, the voice did have a point: he might still be able to fix things with Crowley, the demon might still forgive him, perhaps in wasn't too late yet.

He got up and dialled Crowley's number on his own telephone. He tried Crowley's home number first, he was greeted by the voicemail. "It's alright, maybe he's not home," Aziraphale said in an attempt to keep his spirits up. There was no answer when he called Crowley on his mobile, though. He tried again, and again, and again.

"Crowley," he started after the beep, finally resigning to leave a message on his voicemail, "I realise my behaviour today might have been upsetting and even hurtful and I'm truly sorry. I swear, my dear, I apologise. You've always been so patient with me and I'd understand if you finally had enough of this. Of me." He took a deep breath, trying to find his next words. He didn't want to make things worse, but he needed to pour his feelings into this message. "I'm sorry to always be so anxious and to never make it up to you when you take such good care of me. I'm sorry not to be able to just enjoy our time together without making sure nobody is spying on us. I'm sorry to have kept you from meeting someone more worthy of your affection. I'm not enough, I know it. You're so dazzling, so full of life. You're like fire, shining bright like the stars you cherish. I have nothing to offer you." The admission hurt more than he would have thought. He had told the words many times in his head already, but saying them aloud gave them more weight, it gave them a tangible reality. But it was time to face the truth. "And in spite of knowing that, I still can't help it; I want to be around you, I need your presence by my side. You're a blazing sun and I need your warmth, your strength. Without you, I'm just drifting in the cold, desolated vastness of the universe." Tears had started running down his face again, he was shaking. "I'm home and it's so lonely without you. I miss you, already. It doesn't feel like home without you. It used to, a long time ago, but now it seems you have become my home instead of this place. Come back to me, please, I promise I'll try, I'll be better. I'd do anything to keep you by my side. please come back."

Aziraphale went back to the couch, covering his whole body with the blanket Crowley used to sleep under.

* * *

Hours later, Aziraphale heard the front door of the bookshop open. He frowned, wondering who it might be, not daring to hope it was Crowley.

"Angel, are you home?" Crowley's voice reached Aziraphale's ears and his heart jumped in his chest.

He heard Crowley walk to the backroom, always closer to where he was still hiding under his blanket. _You're ridiculous! He came back and that's how you welcome him? He might leave again if you keep on acting like a spoiled brat!_ The voice scolded. But Aziraphale was too scared to face Crowley right now, he was afraid of finding resentment where there once had been love. He couldn't.

Crowley sat down on the edge of the couch, stiff, as if unsure of what to do next. Aziraphale knew him well enough to imagine all the successive expressions on his face. It made a fond smile grow on his own lips. Finally, Crowley worked up the courage to lay his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, still covered by the fluffy blanket.

"I got your message, angel," Crowley began after a moment. "I'm sorry I left earlier, I really am. I shouldn't have. But I don't ever want to hear you say that you've got nothing to offer me or that you're not enough or not worthy of my love. Do you hear me, angel?" There was an edge to his voice, but Aziraphale knew Crowley wasn't really angry against him, he didn't hate him. "You're bloody amazing, Aziraphale. You're beautiful, soft and warm. You make me so happy, how can you not know that? You make me happy, Aziraphale. You're kind and thoughtful. And you can be a right bastard too," Crowley said with a chuckle. "And I love you, you idiot. Sometimes you make me mad, but it doesn't change the simple fact that my heart belongs to you. You said I had become your home; well, I think you've become mine, too." Crowley bent to kiss the top of Aziraphale's head, through the blanket. Aziraphale could perfectly picture the fond smile on Crowley's lips and it made his heart stutter. "I went to my flat to fetch my TV and DVD player. I took all my Doctor Who DVD, too. And I stopped on the way to buy quite extraordinary amounts of ice cream. I'll wait for you upstairs, join me when you're ready."

And with that he was gone. Aziraphale's lips slowly stretched in a joyful smile. He had thought he had lost everything dear to him, but Crowley loved him. Crowley loved him despite how ridiculous he could be sometimes. Even when they argued, Crowley still loved him. Crowley loved him. He kept repeating the words in his head, trying to carve them in his heart. Aziraphale sat up, letting the blanket bunch on his lap. He wiped his still damp cheeks with the back of his hands, taking a few more seconds to come to terms with the new realisation. Crowley loved him. It made him so happy, almost giddy. It's not like he didn't know before, but it did something to him in that moment. A sort of emotional epiphany, a new light in his heart, a new star born into the sky. Crowley loved him just as much as he loved Crowley. He got up and went upstairs, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.


End file.
